


Cold Coffee

by incurableromancer



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Arguing, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Making Up, new relationship growing pains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableromancer/pseuds/incurableromancer
Summary: He thinks his eyes might be closed when the sound of Nicky’s tired footsteps finally sound out a prelude to his impending presence, a soft shuffling in the hallway that pulls at Joe's heartstrings like the delicate fingers of a harpist, makes him want to crawl under the table like a child and hide as much as it makes him want to force himself into Nicky's arms before either of them can say anything else. Joe’s fingers clench tight around the mug, just for a second, before he sighs, and breathes out all the tension in his body.“I can't sleep well without you, anymore.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 25
Kudos: 399





	Cold Coffee

It’s cold.

Joe knows it’s cold, because his fingers ache and tremble as he refills his cup of coffee, and the pot is lukewarm by now, must be, but it feels hot against his skin. Some of the sticky black liquid spills over the edge of the mug, maybe, sloshed over the edge where there’s the chip, just a few droplets running down the side to slide onto the countertop. Maybe. He doesn’t check. Not really. Doesn’t check if the tears have dried on his cheeks yet, either.

He should close the window, probably. Doesn’t. Wants, needs to hear the sound of the rain pouring down against the grass and the trees, against the pavement and the buildings nearby. Longs to feel the cold breeze on his overheated skin.

He returns to his seat, brings his knee up against his chest in the plastic dining table chair, pushed as close to the window as it will go. His sketchbook sits unopened on the table in front of him. Something about the way the sunset was hitting the glass of the window, earlier, had caught his eye. He certainly couldn’t go up to bed, so. He sat down in front of the window and started sipping his coffee, waiting for the moment of inspiration, and hasn’t moved since, except to refill his mug. Twice now, maybe.

The moment isn’t coming, not tonight. No great works of art. This restless sadness will be just that. He knows that already, but he’s not giving up, yet. That’s something that’s always pulled at him about being an artist. Every passion feels wasted if something great doesn’t come out of it, or if a line can’t be drawn between it and something that’s already great, already profound, already beautiful. He blinks down at his sketchbook for a minute, before he continues staring out the window into the wet night.

Hours might pass. Or maybe it’s only minutes, maybe only seconds. He’s resting his chin on his knee, now. Struggling to keep his eyes open. Doesn’t want to go to bed, knows that the second he laid down the sleepiness would evaporate like the sunlight over the horizon, knows Nicky would be facing away from him, laying as far as he could from Joe’s side of the bed. Wouldn’t welcome any touches.

So Joe just tries to relish in the feeling of being tired, and he stares out the window.

He thinks his eyes might be closed when the sound of Nicky’s tired footsteps finally sound out a prelude to his impending presence, a soft shuffling in the hallway that pulls at Joe's heartstrings like the delicate fingers of a harpist, makes him want to crawl under the table like a child and hide as much as it makes him want to force himself into Nicky's arms before either of them can say anything else. Joe’s fingers clench tight around the mug, just for a second, before he sighs, and breathes out all the tension in his body.

“I can't sleep well without you, anymore.”

Joe opens his eyes.

Nicky’s eyes are red and tired, too. Joe can tell he’s been to the bathroom to try and scrub the evidence of the tears from his own cheeks. Even can see some droplets of water soaked through his worn grey shirt.

Joe’s worn grey shirt.

Not the one Nicky had been wearing earlier, when somebody snapped, and then somebody else snapped back, and they both said a whole lot of hurtful things that they shouldn’t have. That shirt had been red. Joe remembers, because Nicky’s cheeks and neck get splotchy red when he’s mad, and Joe had hated the way the shirt emphasized it.

He’s just pale, now. Joe might ask if he was feeling ill or faint, if it was a different day. Might bring him something to eat. Nothing but a faint pinkness in his cheeks, now. Sleepy, embarrassed, lonely.

Joe knows the feeling.

It had been a long day for both of them. Both had come home needing comfort, in different ways. Didn’t know how to ask for it the right way, or how to give it. Not yet.

Nicky sits down. In the closest chair to Joe’s, not the one on the other end of the table. And he blinks his big blue-green eyes, regret and apology written all over them. He needs a haircut, and he hasn’t shaved in awhile. Joe thinks it makes him look handsome in a different way than usual. Makes him softer, maybe. It also makes Joe wonder if he shouldn't have checked in on how Nicky is feeling sooner, that maybe he's not noticing things he should be. The last few days have been too busy for kisses, he realizes. Or, he revises in his head, they haven’t quite figured out how to prioritize each other yet in all the ways they need to. He wants to lean in to kiss him right then, to know what it feels like when they both have scruff. Wants to take everything back, and wants it to be that morning again, so that he could prevent all this by being honest when Nicky had tiredly asked him if everything was okay instead of brushing him off like he would anyone else.

Because he lives with Nicky now, and hadn’t had time to sleep off the bad mood before they were in each other’s space again, hadn’t had time to find his smile and mean it, like he would have been able to for anyone else, anyone who doesn't know him as well as Nicky does.

“I can't sleep well without you either.”

Nicky smiles at him, very faintly. Reaches out and grabs Joe’s mug, brings it up to his lips. Joe smiles, just a little, at the face he makes. Not a fan of cold coffee, his Nicky.

“Do you want me to put on another pot?”

Nicky knows that Joe doesn’t like cold coffee either, usually, and Joe is suddenly overwhelmed with the certainty that they can figure this out.

“That’s all right, habibi. Be nice to go to bed soon, hm?”

Nicky puts the mug down, and slowly, hesitantly reaches his hand out towards Joe’s. Joe lets him take it, and the warmth of Nicky’s skin makes him realize how cold he really is.

Nicky lifts Joe’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles, rubbing gently over his chilly skin to warm him up. Joe loves the scrape of his stubble.

“That would be nice.”

Nicky’s eyes find his as he says it, and Joe suddenly wants nothing more than to be wrapped around him in their bed. Wants to take the time to appreciate it, and let Nicky know that he does with his words, and soft touches.

“I’m sorry, Nicky. For earlier. And the past few days.”

Nicky shifts closer, his chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m sorry too. You look exhausted, and I would like to just be in bed with you, but we can talk about it, right? Maybe tomorrow? Or tonight, if you want? This hasn't felt like us, recently.”

Joe brings up his other hand to curl over Nicky’s.

“Tomorrow sounds good. It didn’t feel like us, no- but this does, right? Figuring it out? We’re both tired, and we- I pushed you away, and I shouldn’t have, and I don’t plan to do it again. We’ll learn from this, right?”

Nicky blinks at him before standing suddenly, and Joe is terrified for half a second, of what he's not even sure, but then it’s clear that Nicky means to pull Joe up and into his arms. Then they're hugging each other tight, and Joe is a tea bag being steeped in boiling relief. Nicky smells just like he always does, warm and comforting, and his shirt is soft, and his limbs are heavy with sleepiness. Joe never wants to let him go again. 

“I promise we will. I pushed you away too.” Nicky curls his fingers so gently against the back of Joe’s neck, and presses a wonderfully prickly kiss to his jaw, before pressing their foreheads together. His eyes slide shut, and he sighs, and Joe presses a hand over his heart, just to feel it beating. Watches the way Nicky’s eyebrows furrow, and leans in to press a few kisses to his stubbly cheek, revels in the novelty of the way it feels prickly against his lips, before they finally meet in the middle for a soft, chaste kiss. Barely there, soft brushes of their lips.

Joe absurdly feels like he’s just come home for the first time this week, and thinks to himself that he should shut the window so that the cold can’t get at them anymore.

Nicky pulls back, just an inch or two. He lets all his affection warm his wide eyes and whispers, “I love you, Joe. Come to bed, please? Let me warm you up.”

Joe nods at him, kisses the corner of his mouth again before whispering back, “I love you too. We need to close the window, and then yes, please take me to bed. Warm me up, and let me tell you I love you at least a dozen more times before we fall asleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ dearpatroclus


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